


Caving

by WitchxnamedxAnna



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Mythology References, References to Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 10:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18313808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchxnamedxAnna/pseuds/WitchxnamedxAnna
Summary: Her late grandma's tales of gods and magic offered Nina a great guidance in life. Yet the world as she knows it, turns upside down the minute said stories reveal to have more than a grain of truth to them.Time travel/Attempted Historical Accuracy/I don't fucking know/ I'm not a native english speaker so roast my writing!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my... roast me

While the sky appeared to be pouring down its wailing sadness, she was wearing black. Droplets of rain fell down onto the rooftop of a small chapel, creating consistently calming noise in the space filled with the scent of a burning wax. Overwhelmingly, tranquil atmosphere was disturbed by a grim reminder in the form of a white coffin.

She was standing over the open casket, trying to memorize all the soft features and indentations on the old skin, knowing that it was the last time she had an opportunity to do so. Behind the black glasses her silver eyes were drawn to the small bundle placed deliberately in the folded hands.  
Almost instinctively, Nina snatched the rosary and hid it in the pocket of her dress. Hearing oncoming footsteps, she quickly straightened out her posture, without taking her sight off of the resting silhouette.  
'How are you, buttercup?' a soft voice echoed in the open space. The young woman recoiled in apprehension due to the use of an endearment especially reserved for her grandma. The one that laid in a restful pose until her body would be left to rot feet under the ground.  
'She wouldn't want to be buried like this' she finally said, breaking the silence that slowly overwhelmed the room. 'She wasn't a Christian.'  
The woman let out a resigned sigh, knowing that her daughter would not budge in the reoccurring argument.  
'What would you want us to do? Leave her to little elves and fairies?' she answered mockingly, clearly fed up with the topic.  
'You know it wasn't like that' Nina answered, frowning. She tried to avoid any confrontation, but it did not seem to work as well as she planned.   
'And what would people think about 'the odd Meadows' if she was buried as a witch?' she said riled up.  
A slight smirk made its way onto the young woman's face as she gave up in an attempt to make a civil conversation.   
'First of all, she was the witch' Nina said trying to maintain the pretence of a solemnity. 'And frankly, I don't give a fuck what others might think'.  
She turned back and walked out of the chapel with the confident stride. Behind her, the mother was so angry, that she appeared to be fuming.   
'Nina! You better come back for the ceremony!' her voice had that moderately annoying quality to drill into one's ears and now it seemed more apparent than ever.  
Yet nineteen years old woman knew that she will be nowhere near the upcoming funeral, and she was already certain what she was going to do in that time.

 

Opening up the old oaken door, her nostrils were instantly filled with the scent of various herbs. Midsummer sun beamed, sending its rays through the narrow glass windows. Small cottage appeared to be covered with the small layer of dust. The truth was that she was gone and no one would be there to take care of a peaceful abode.   
Nina's eyes started watering the moment she saw an unfinished wreath littering the surface of a table. Bunches of rosemary laid there with no skilled fingers to plait them.   
'Rosemary for protection' she muttered, remembering how many summers ago she used to play all days in grandma's garden. She thought of many wreaths they got to plait and many other things she had learnt.   
All due to the kind heart of her late grandmother whose peculiar habits made her an outcast in a small catholic village.   
Those oddities could be attributed to her Scandinavian and Celtic heritage. For centuries the truths of all kinds, gods and magic were passed to the next generation and so after over a thousand years they got to be introduced to Nina. Hence, she knew the significance of herbs, symbols and about reading signs from nature. At this point, they seemed to be a form of guidance in life, indicating the importance of little things. Because who nowadays devotes a single moment to think about minor things such as the type of flowers under one's feet?  
This was precisely what pushed her to make many decisions some would undoubtedly scorn at. A small rune Ihwaz adorned an inner part of her forearm and the let her finger glide over it as she remembered how meaningful it was in all the stories she got to hear. Similarly, many appliances of herbs and its effects was what got her interested in human body in the first place. Therefore in a small cottage stood a young woman who had just finished her second year studying physiotherapy.   
All the things she got to learn was what made her who she was and hence she knew that she should honour her mentor in a way she would like to be honoured.  
She neared the cupboard to pull out a knife with a wooden handle, knowing just how she'll soon get to use it. She was certainly not looking forward to do it, thinking just how weird it would be for anyone her age. In those times people are not used to killing, even less so to making sacrifices, yet here she was about to pay her respects in a quite gruesome way.  
She escaped the room, where the nostalgia seemed to linger in the air, reminiscing her early childhood. With a sun at its highest she had to slightly squint her eyelids in order to see. Couple of meters away from the front door there was a small pen with one lonely goat.  
'Hello cutie' she said petting the animal and thinking just how much she will not enjoy what is to happen. Nina grabbed a stray piece of rope and loosely wrapped it around the furry neck. 'We are going on a walk for now'.  
And so she went down a well-known path leading to the river with a lazy animal which was constantly stopping to grasp a bit of grass. Surrounding trees gave a bit of shade on the June afternoon. The rays of sun made woman's hair shine with the bright colour of honey. Yet now was a time when she had sincerely wished not to be wearing black.   
A small trail of swear lingered on the skin on her covered back. Her knee-length loose dress with sleeves down to elbows and dark stockings did not offer her any comfort in a heat. If she was looking for any positives, at least she didn't care enough to put on heels or anything of that kind and alternatively chose some casual black sneakers. It would suck to go through the undergrowth in anything without flat soles.  
Her glasses annoyingly fogged up, and she had to stop and wipe them, giving the animal an opportunity to stuck its face into some violet flowers. The goat meeped the moment their pace got back to normal up until she neared the moving water.   
An old wooden boat was moored right where she remembered it to be. The woman signed, thinking just how unpleasant the upcoming part will be. Her fingers were still holding the knife giving her a grim reminder of what is to come.   
'Sorry buddie' she said, petting the goat for the last time.   
She looked around, ensuring that in a near vicinity there were no witnesses, who would see her and decide that she belongs in some mental institution. Her eyes were drawn to crows sitting on high branches of an oak tree. Their beaks appeared to be turned in her direction as if all of them were to scrutinize her attempt to perform a proper ceremony.   
She looked away back to the white animal who stood in front of her and cleared her throat. Here goes nothing.  
'I, Nina come here to make a sacrifice in honour of the great woman, and my grandmother Ingrid Meadows. Let her journey be easy and her cup be ever-ful. Let her cherish in happiness and fulfilment.'  
Her hand neared the goat's neck until the blade touched the skin, and then she stopped. She thought how despite seeing her grandma doing it so many times it would be an actual first for her. She would take her first life.  
An intense bleating reminded her of her purpose. With quite a lot of strength she pushed the knife, tearing through the skin and tissues. Blood poured out of the wound and red stained animal's fur and her hand. It thrashed around attempting to flee, yet the firm grip held the goat in place. With a bit more conviction, the blade cut through the artery and the flow of scarlet liquid drastically increased.   
After two minutes the meeping and movement completely stopped. The animal laid on the ground motionless. Nina's sight was drawn to the red coating the blades of grass. Now the deed was done.  
She looked around and noticed a nearby stack of hay. Once again she took a moment to assess whether there has been any witness and gladly there were none. Not like she could do anything now that her hands were stained with deep red. She took a few handfuls of dried grass and dumped it into the boat. Fortunately, effects of the earlier rain were practically no-existent as moisture evaporated in the intense sunlight. She grabbed a few larger pieces of dry wood and stacked it onto the vessel. Then she grabbed the front limbs of an animal and with quite a bit of effort she managed to drag it on the planks.   
Blood trailed down the riverbank and up her hands to middle of her forearms. A fleeting thought made its way into her mind. It is beautiful. Gruesome, yet beautiful.   
She pushed the boat slightly further from the shore. Not far enough so that it went with currents but sufficiently so that it would be much easier to let it drift. She fished out a lighter from a pocket of her dress and with a swift motion the flame appeared. With a few movements, she managed to grab a nearby twigs to set them alight. Then she dropped them.  
Hay almost instantly caught on fire and she had to quickly push the burning vessel away.  
She stood there mesmerized with the view of fire slowly consuming the wood.  
Once again her fingers got lost into her pocket this time to pull out a pack of cigarettes. She lighted one and let herself get lost in the sensation of inhaling the smoke. The deed was done. Nina let out a puff of greyish cloud, yet her eyes were constantly observing the slowly moving boat. She knew that there were no settlements down the river for at least fifty kilometres and before any of those it would already be burnt or sunken under the surface. Her offering would not be in any way interrupted.   
Suddenly, the crows begun cawing, breaking the silence. She took her eyes away from the boat as it disappeared over a turn. She moved to turn away, just to be hit with the fluttering mass of black feathers.  
'Oh, fuck me' she squeaked in shock. The unfinished cigarette fell out of her hand, burning her palm yet it wasn't what concerned her the most. The rouge crow seemed to make it its task to get itself a new nest in her mid-back length hair.   
Just as she managed to scare it away with uncoordinated movements of her arms, her feet suddenly slipped. She tumbled to the grass with her head hitting the nearby laying rock. Her vision went black and at that time she had no idea that the world as she knew it would be turned upside down.

 

A raging headache was a first thing she noticed the second she came back to consciousness. The pulsating pain on the back of her scull made for an unpleasant reminder of what happened. She adjusted her black glasses so that she could look around her surroundings. 

' _What the hell_ ' there was no river. No trail of blood. Trees and bushes were strangers to her. 'Where the fuck am I' she muttered, getting up from the grass, which managed to wet the back of her clothes.   
There laid a single large rock in what looked to be a hill. From what she could remember the terrain surrounding her grandma's cottage was a wide valley and there were no places with higher altitude for at least a hundred kilometres in any direction.   
Her ponderings were stopped with a sound of a coarse, heavily accented speech.  
'What are you doing here, trall? she looked around and a source of the voice appeared to be a young, weirdly dressed what she would assume 15 years old boy. He was sitting a few metres away, leaning heavily on his arms, with his legs strapped together.  
A slight frown made its way into her face as she understood the words and it seemed to be an extremely odd way to address anyone.   
'Excuse-fucking-you, I'm not a slave and I don't see your name written on this damn rock' she spoke rashly, with her eyes focused his peculiar silhouette.   
He was wearing what looked like a linen shirt with a leather vest and some black pants. The clothes gave out a medieval vibe and reminded her of those festivals when people would come dressed up as knights. Her gaze lingered on his face as his short dark hair laid bare his face. Intense blue eyes were undoubtedly the most prominent feature. Yet they seemed to emanate an extreme anger as his lips were pushed into a thin line.  
'I am a prince of Kattegat and therefore this ground belongs to me' he said, throwing his arm out to emphasize his point.  
'Lovely, I got to go anyway' she said standing up, keeping her sight on the boy.   
' _He's dangerous_ ' a thought run through her brain, bouncing off her scull. His arm suddenly went down to the left side of his waist and in a few seconds a small axe made its way into his grip.  
' _Oh fuck_ '   
'I will not be disrespected by a deluded quim' she seethed through his teeth, rising his arm to throw.  
In a split-second she wondered whether she should run, because that was what she certainly wanted to do as fast as fucking possible.  
But then, then there was an overwhelming sense of power. Her eyes run away from the angry boy to seek a silhouette in dark cape. A newcomer with long, grey hair looked  straightly at her with an only one eye.   
She took in an audible grasp of air. She was no longer certain what was real and what was not. Why would she be granted a vision of a Norse All-father? It made no sense.  
'Odin' the boy whispered.   
The man broke the eye contact with Nina to look at the angry boy who no longer looked as enraged. Now a curiosity lingered on the soft features of his face.   
'Son of Ragnar, I see that you have met Saga' the deepness of his voice was not surprising to her. Yet she was utterly at lost with a reason behind calling her a new name. 'She is a blind woman who sees. She is to see the greatness of you and your brothers so that people speak of vikings as long as they have tongues to speak'.  
Odin neared the young woman as she looked at him mesmerized. She could feel his power and wisdom confined to the mere body. When he stood not three feet away from her, he spoke once again.  
'Nina, you are the one who knows the stories. The one who saw without seeing. Take a new name and rejoice in it, Saga. As my distant kin' she felt as if she utterly forgot how to breathe.  
She heard the words, but she was unable to fully comprehend their meaning. Her gaze still focused on his countenance. Then suddenly, she felt calmness. Man's hand started gently stroking her cheek in a soft almost paternal way.   
'Saga, save the fates of those who need saving. Change the world as you know it' he took his palm and placed it on her forearm and then a dark ink appeared on her skin. The image of three interlocking horns now adorned her limb.   
When she looked away from the mark on her arm she noticed that he was gone. Now there were only two.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote it instead of sleeping...

She felt numb. An abundance of stimuli overpowered her senses, and she had a trouble in remembering how to breathe.  
  
When she let out a puff of air, the small cloud appeared out of her mouth, and it was just then that she realized how cold it actually was. Her legs were mostly uncovered, and the loose fitting dress offered her nearly no protection. Not to mention just how off she was about to look like in comparison to others.  
  
_'Oh fuck_ ' she mumbled, pulling out a cigarette. After a few seconds of awkward fiddling with  the lighter, which Bless Gods worked, she took a deep inhale of smoke in an attempt to collect her thoughts.  
  
She could not decipher what was more odd. A new name, weird purpose or perhaps the idea that Gods are more than artificial creation aimed to give people guidance emotional support.   
  
It's not that she hasn't heard of them. In her times, Norse Mythology found itself quite prevalent in pop culture, giving actors such as Tom Hiddlestone or Chris Hemsworth an opportunity to become embodiments of gods. And that wasn't all, since Nina's grandmother did not fail to tell her the myths when she was no more than a wee lass.   
  
Yet the mere idea of the existence of the being so much greater than humans made her uneasy. Would it mean that fates are predetermined? Do people have any choice over their destiny? How often do Gods interfere? ' _Is Jesus real too?_ '  
  
She broke out from her train of thoughts, leading her gaze to her forearm, which was now marked by the peculiar but well-known to her symbol. Triple interlocking horns were the sign of Odin, alluding to the adventure when he stole the Mead of Poetry. It shall inspire the writers, who wish to tell their stories. Stories... It came  to her with a sudden realization.  
  
' _Gods have a wicked sense of humour'._  
  
Her name, the new proclaimed by the Allfather name was no accident. Saga quite literally means 'the story' and if her reasoning was astute(and there was no Loki nor other trickster involved), it is simply a blunt reminder of her purpose.   
  
' _Oh yeah, no biggie. Because instructions were so precise... Why would the person, eh... God speak so cryptically? Just imagine if I just accidentally just majorly fucked up the history'._  
  
A slight uneasiness creeped over her, the moment she fully comprehended the situation she found herself in(or at least that's what she was telling herself). She was in the past. In the fucking past. Without really knowing when. She swore under her breath with fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. It will not go well...

  
"Do you often speak to yourself, woman?" the voice brought her attention to the fact, that she wasn't actually alone and the time to start freaking out will yet arrive.   
  
"Only under inexplicable circumstances or the heavy influence of alcohol" she said easily, with her grey irises set on the boy. He didn't look as angry as earlier and the curiosity sparked in his eyes. Yet for now she did want to test his patience.   
  
_'A wise man said that one should not anger a person with an axe'_ no idea who, but it sounds reasonable.  
  
She clearly noticed his disability and quickly wondered what was its cause. Broken spinal cord? Mutilated legs? Muscular dystrophy? Nah, the last one would affect the rest of his posture and after assessing the size of his arms, it made for another wrong diagnosis. Perhaps, it had a genetic cause? Osteogenesis imperfecta would be confirmed by an unusual colour of the whites of his eyes. There were no way to cure it. Definitely not there, but there could be ways to alleviate pains.   
  
A mere thought of the struggles he had to go through in the viking society almost made her shudder.   
  
A wolfish smile made its way onto his face, making him look so much more innocent.  
  
"Come with me, Godsent. It would be a shame for you to freeze" he said with his words hinting a slight mockery. His acceptance of the situation baffled her.  
  
"What is your name, prince?" she said walking next to him, as he crawled down the slope of the hill.  
  
"Ivar Ragnarsson, prince of Kattegat" he said attempting to sound invincible,but a strain creeped itself into his speech as he worked to maintain a steady breath despite a quick pace.   
The name made look back at him. She had heard of him. Ivar the boneless, one of the most vicious strategists there were. He was responsible for the raid on York and Dublin. He was a cold-blooded killer, yet as of now he looked like just a slightly lost boy. Still she knew just how deceitful appearances could be. 

Still he did not ask for respite and just pulled through his discomfort. He did not deserve pity, but rather admiration. 

"Where precisely is Kattegat?" she asked finally, wishing to know more about the merits of her situation.  
  
"South part of Norway" he spoke, scrutinizing her silhouette. She was wearing some kind of silly contraption on her nose. He wasn't certain what it meant, but she was a woman and more often then not it was easier to simply not ask. Despite her wearing the loose clothing, he could see her curves hiding underneath the material. She seemed relaxed, looking around to remember all details of the followed path.  
  
"And what year it is?" she asked an unnerving question. 

He then started paying much more attention to her face. Her teeth were toying with her lower lip and a small wrinkle made itself visible between her eyebrows.   
  
"814" he answers, observing the way she let out a quick puff breath.   
  
_'So over a thousand and two hundred years...'_ the look in her eyes made it seem as if she was far, far way.  
  
Before Ivar could decide what to say, their steps brought them closer to the town. Log houses did not have lots of windows, which was understandable, taking into consideration the coldness of winter they regularly faced. There were sounds of livestock, some laughter and guttural tones. Those who were out of their cabins more often then not looked at the strange girl clothed in black. She was a nuisance and the news of an odd appearance would no doubt soon become rumors among the people.  
  
She wished to inhale the town's scent i aroma and be able to know all its secrets. The sea breeze was extremely invigorating, and she was certain that despite the faint smell of smoke from the hearts, it was the cleanest breath she had ever taken in.  
  
They soon neared the widely open door to the largest building. People seemed to enjoy themselves there as the mere sound of their merry conversations would suggest.There were three boys who appeared to be just short of becoming adults.   
  
Ivar's movement on the planks caught the attention of a group of people, yet his unexpected visitor was what captivated it. With her highly unusual clothes(which could most likely indicate her being a whore as far as modesty went) and a weird decoration on her face she undoubtedly was  an oddity.  
  
"Ah, brother! Have you finally found yourself a woman to bed?" said a boy or perhaps a man? with many little braids and a rather slim silhouette. Dressed in leather and linen be sat comfortably on the bench, whilst sipping from his horn.  
  
She crossed her arms around her chest. ' _Most likely a boy...'_ a thought run through her mind the second he opened up his mouth.  
  
"Don't joke of such things, Hvitserk. It's not like she would willingly choose to bed him" said a boy with the wild locks. It slightly resembled a puddle's mane and the mere, innocent fact made her smile.  
  
"It's not like I'd chose any of you to bed me" she answered with the hope to shock them. Her inner feminist was fuming at the thought of such objectification, yet their reaction was worth it.  
  
The one who appearance-wise looked to be the oldest, with shorter blonde hair and extremely blue eyes, chocked on his drink. Tht caused a small smile to blossom on her face.  
  
"She is not a slave" said Ivar with a large grin. "This is Saga Odinsdottir and she was sent to us by Allfather himself".  
  
Then there was silence.  
  


 


End file.
